


the anointed cherub that covereth

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Blasphemy, M/M, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thou wast perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity was found in thee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the anointed cherub that covereth

Trevor expects for this to happen, of course. As soon as he finds Michael in that awful, hollow mansion, he knows. Not just because it’s fate (though, he’s pretty sure it is. It’s not often that people get second chances with their soul mates, after all) but because even after ten years and the worst betrayal Trevor could ever imagine, he still feels like he’s lain eyes on an archangel when he looks at Michael. He doesn’t tell Michael that, mostly because he can’t find the words, but he’s an honest enough man to be able to look himself in the mirror and know that his forty days and nights in the desert have not served him well. He’s hungry, and Michel has always been mana to him. 

They’ve been wonderfully, tantalizingly close to fucking on more than one occasion since their reunion, but each time they’re interrupted by Michael’s new and less disappointing son, or Wade, or the fucking Feds. So when it comes around that Michael needs to stay in Sandy Shores for a bit, they make short work of getting into bed together, despite Michael’s obvious irritation about the entire situation. 

Which leads them to where they are now. He’s always been a slave to Michael, and this only serves to prove it. After all of this time, he ends up on his back, desperately hard and whining Michael’s name, just like always. And Michael is as beautiful as ever, with his thick, dark hair and his sharp, searching gaze. Trevor groans, his hips bucking uselessly into the air. Michael chuckles darkly. He’s always gotten off on how needy he makes Trevor, the sick bastard. 

Trevor watches Michael’s muscle ripple under his layer of soft fat; he looks gentler than he’s ever actually been, Lord knows, but who could Trevor love if not a war god? Trevor rocks himself upward and grips Michael’s shoulders, his lips falling over the expanse of Michael’s exposed chest with fervor. Michael’s hands snake around his hips, pulling Trevor closer just as he tips his head back to allow him to reach more of his skin. 

They move up the bed, Trevor pressing hot kisses to Michael’s collarbones the whole way. Michael’s hands keep him steady as they switch places, with Michael leaning back again the headboard while Trevor hovers over him. Trevor wants him badly enough to fuck him right here and now, but his desire to draw this out as long as possible is stronger. He leans back and takes in Michael’s barely clothed form. He still looks so goddamn strong—less like a boulder and more like a rockslide, Trevor thinks, with the way his muscles move over each other with such destructive power, rending all in his path. He’s breathtaking. 

Trevor starts kissing down Michael’s front with purpose, stopping occasionally to swirl his tongue over the smooth skin of Michael’s belly. He wants to say that he’s beautiful, god, he’s so perfect and gorgeous and magnificent—he’s a king or a god or the entire universe, but his tongue is too busy writing the words across Michael’s stomach for him to will them out of his throat. Trevor knows that Michael knows scripture—he knows what comes next at this mass. Psalms and blessings and prayers all come from the same place. Trevor has always known how to use his mouth to worship. 

When he makes it to Michael’s padded hipbones, he slips his fingers under the elastic of Michael’s boxers and carefully pulls them away. Michael adjusts above him; shifting his hips and dropping his legs open just a touch wider so that Trevor can make himself comfortable on his knees. He takes to his task easily, first nibbling on the delicate skin just inside Michael’s thigh, followed by his tongue soothing the irritated red splotch he leaves behind. Michael’s breathing is quick and shallow. Trevor tilts his head so that his lips brush Michael’s shaft, bobbing his head gently so his nose runs over it. He flicks his eyes upwards, holding Michael’s enraptured gaze as he opens his mouth and lolls his tongue out to lap at the cock in his face.

Michael moans like angels sing. Trevor can’t help it—he whimpers, his voice going up an octave in his arousal. Michael is holding his gaze, his lips just barely parted and the beginning of a sweat breaking out on his forehead. Trevor has always been insecure about the high, girlish noises he makes in bed, but he feels Michael twitch against his mouth and it’s too good for him to keep himself quiet. Trevor drags his tongue up the thick vein on the underside of Michael’s cock, drawing back only to press a swift kiss to the tip before he opens his mouth and sinks down to take him like communion. 

Michael swears. Trevor hums in the back of his throat, moving his hand and his head in time so that Michael can feel just how thankful and blessed Trevor is to be able to lay eyes on him again—to be able to touch him and taste him and hear his voice and know it’s real, it’s not a ghost of his exalted beloved who has blessed and raised him like the host. Suddenly, though, he’s being dragged away and up to look Michael in the eye, his jaw still slack and a bit of drool running down his chin.

“Fuckin’ quit that, or I’ll lose it.” Michael says breathlessly. Trevor glows. “I wanna fuck you.” Michael growls. It takes a beat for Trevor to collect his thoughts enough to realize that he is expected to provide lube, and he takes even longer to actually find it. Michael keeps a hand on him the entire time he searches. Trevor is healed for his faith. 

He hands over the bottle when he finally finds it. It’s hardly got more than a few good squirts left in it, but he can honestly say he doesn’t give a fuck. He needs Michael inside of him, ideally sooner rather than later. He sinks back to the sheets and Michael rolls on top of him, his delicious weight only a reminder of how much more solid and tangible Michael is. 

Job was tested by God. He, too, was abandoned because he was most beloved. Trevor thinks he’s strong enough for this test, too. He can love and expect nothing in return except for these snatched moments where he is given the chance to offer Michael the most sacred, secret parts of himself. He can give them freely and wholly. Never for a moment has Trevor belonged to anyone the way he belongs to Michael. No one could be so beautiful and so precious and so holy as he is. How could any mortal dream of competing for his soul with this golden gift of a man? 

Michael’s fingers know the altar well. They curl inside him like he’s grasping at a rosary and Trevor mewls and moves to meet him and fuck, fuck, Lord, they were made to be together like this. They fit together too perfectly for there to be any other explanation. Trevor’s fingers scramble for purchase on Michael’s biceps, looking for something to cling to to keep him from floating back to the heavens where he belongs. His breath is coming fast, turning quickly to throaty whimpers in perfect time with Michael’s low growls. Michael is hard and insistent against him and Trevor is lifting his hips and fuck, he’s so hot for Michael that he could cry. He might cry. He tries not to, though. 

“Mikey—” He gasps. Michael twists his fingers and Trevor can’t finish his sentence, it’s so good. His feet flex. He’s dangerously close. “Mikey,” he tries again. “I can’t wait, I can’t wait, don’t make me come without you in me, please, please, _fuck_ me, Michael, please.” He begs, barely able to string even those scattered words together. Michael’s brow furrows in concentration. 

“So fuckin’ impatient.” He mumbles, but he draws his fingers away (and Trevor wants to sob at the loss of the feeling, but he holds it together) and replaces them with the tip of his cock. His thrust forward is rough and hard and perfect. Trevor sees white. Michael fills him just as flawlessly as he’s always done. Not just in the literal sense, even, because when they're like this, Trevor feels like every tear and rip and hole in his being is repaired. There's no room for anyone in his heart but Michael. Nothing has changed, despite all the others who have been between his legs before and since, despite Trevor’s broken heart and Michael’s broken mind—they are still made for each other. Trevor is designed to give this to him. Maybe even God hadn’t planned on Michael not wanting to receive it. 

They find a rhythm. Michael is groaning and grunting and fucking into him with abandon, their skin slapping together hard enough to bruise them both by morning. Trevor meets him easily, though his thighs are shaking and his heart is pounding and he can’t see a damn thing but those blue-gray eyes. He wraps his legs around Michael’s waist to keep him close, his hands thrown up above his head to grasp at the headboard desperately. 

Michael pulls back to kneel, dragging Trevor by the hips into his lap so that he has more leverage, pumping up and into him. Trevor’s back is arched, his head barely touching the sheets as every thrust knocks the air out of him, so that he’s panting to chase his breath and his thoughts and holy fucking shit, it feels good. He would do anything for Michael, always, but in this moment Trevor thinks there’s not a damn thing Michael could do to him, that he could ask of him, that would hurt him. Nothing can ruin this. Michael is inside of him and it’s exquisite and he’s going to come and Michael is going to come in him and no one can take that from him. Not even funeral directors, or priests, or strippers with fake tits. This is his. 

He doesn’t want to say it—he doesn’t want Michael to know just how weak he’s made him, but it builds in his chest and he can’t help it, he can’t help it, it just spills out. 

“I’m—I’m—Christ, Michael—I love you, I love you, I’m in love with you, I’m gonna come, Michael, _Michael_!” And he keens, sweet and high, and his body tightens like a bow string and he comes on his stomach, completely untouched save for Michael’s hands on his knees and his cock in him. Michael tilts his chin down, driving into him with force great enough to scoot them both backward up the bed. He’s staring at Trevor, who’s fucking sensitive and whimpering at the feeling of Michael still in him, his mouth open and his lashes fluttering. Michael’s mouth is practically watering at the sight of him. 

He doesn’t even have the kindness in him to say Trevor’s name when he comes—he just gives a long, ragged moan and buries himself in Trevor to the hilt, panting and twitching like a wounded animal. Trevor stares up at him and knows that it’s written all over his face. He belongs to Michael. He doesn’t expect Michael to look at him and release his knees, lowering himself so they’re chest-to-chest, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, with Michael still inside of him. He doesn’t expect, either, for Michael to cover his mouth with his own thin lips, plunging his tongue in to meet Trevor’s. 

Trevor mewls and wraps his arms around Michael’s shoulders, drawing him as close as he can possibly get, and good god what he wouldn’t do for a solid hit of crystal right now so that he can fuck Michael all night long. The kiss is filthy, with Michael practically counting Trevor’s teeth with his tongue and Trevor drinking as deeply as he possibly can, like Michael’s mouth is the only liquor he’s ever needed.

But as soon as it begins, it ends. Michael rolls off of him and even though he’s less than half a foot away, they aren’t touching and it feels like there’s miles between them. They lie there on their backs for a long time, neither of them saying a word. Trevor is finally able to breath evenly just as Michael turns to face him, his brow furrowed angrily. Trevor braces himself for a blow.

“Why don’t you hate me?” That isn’t what he was expecting. He recalibrates. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again. He tries to think of something painful to say, something to put back the walls that he freely destroyed in exchange for Michael’s touch. Nothing comes to mind. Michael is still staring at him.

“I can’t.” Trevor confesses at last. Michael frowns. Neither of them speak. At last, Michael moves closer to Trevor and wraps one arm around his chest, holding him tightly. It’s not an apology, but it’s something and Trevor is too lost and broken to tell him to fuck off. A coyote howls from somewhere in the distance. Michael shivers. It is a start.


End file.
